Into the Heart of One Great Brain

Walking through Doors: Galatians 5

Closing the door this morning, I felt the lightness in my stomach. I have been here before, standing hand poised silent on handle, feeling something bigger pull to move me where I feared to go.

I am haunted by so many words.

Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. I whisper deep inside where I churn.

Barely enough air fills our kitchen. I turn the handle and go out.

***

I remember a night nearly four years ago when the air was August heavy, yet contained this sort of lightness. On that night, I stood at this door, hand poised to lock and turn in. I stopped, reopened and left the safety of this kitchen, of my home that I filled alone. I don’t remember what exactly was said that made the view different and caused the return of two back into my home, but I do remember barely breathing. I remember opening myself in every way I said I wouldn’t again. I remember the tears that came the next day. I remember the hope. And the fear of that hope.

***

My dear friend toured a home with her fiance this week. I watched her face. I listened to the description of its layout – where the kitchen was, the size of the bedrooms, the fireplace, the windows. I smiled. I asked pointed questions so that I would see it in my mind and feel it around me, through her. I heard her say to another standing there that she knows where they would put the TV and the couch and the bed. She smiles and smooths her skirt down.

This morning I thought of her walking into that empty house. I saw her, in my mind’s eye, mourning the ideal of romance, heavily leaning on hope as she followed him through the door. I saw her reach for the hand that had just hours before tossed her away with harsh words, with spite, with exasperation. I saw them put themselves inside it. She touched his arm and pointed towards this corner and that window because that is the way we have. She followed him through the open door to the living room. They looked at the brightness pooling the wood floors gold, surrounding the hearth with halo. They ran their hands along the chair rail. I watched them combine things the best they could to create home. I saw her dream bravely and large, when, at that moment, the dream was the most frightening thing she saw and touched.

***

I am startled by the chill after such strong rains as I walk down brick steps. For March, Alabama is cold. Everyone is complaining of the thick concreted skies and the rain and the winds that keep them indoors. People want open toed shoes, shorts and bursting azaleas. No one wants what we’re getting.

In this unnaturalness, sweat still forms from the middle and works itself upward through me as I approach the window. I am aware of the exposure of my own skin. The lightness fills me in such a way that I wonder if I’ll be shoved by the harsh gusts, flung far with no one to protect me, to catch me.

Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. I whisper.

I stand there. I have no words. I simply stand.

***

I took a deep breath and let it out loud with a heave. I smiled as I peeked through the long narrow door window that reminds me of elementary schools. From her desk, she motions me inside and I enter.

Her office is larger than I expected. Bookshelves are behind and around and over the windows. I notice they are lined up by size as I walk towards her desk in their center, saying “Hey. How are you?” My own voice startles me. It sounds loud in this room. I wonder if the knocking of my shins and legs caused the greeting to shoot up and out quicker and louder. I fight the flush.

We already know each other through other’s stories only. I answered her small questions about myself allowing her to feel me through words as the blind do with hands. I listened to her words about responsibilities and talents. I listened to her walk through a typical day. Then the phone rang. She answered and turned towards her monitor screen.

She answered and l looked around, feeling out of place and wondering if I should leave. Over the large circle table hanging perfectly square were three prints of different doors. I stood and walked to them while she discussed location of an article. Each door was easy on the eyes and appeared serene, accessible. I had seen them before. One green door’s arch was surrounded by roses so thick the fragrance was spilling out. One with a bike, resting to the left. I wondered if it had just returned or was waiting to leave. Before I could look closely at the third, she called my name.

“I like your doors,” I said walking back to my seat. “Remind me of the artist. Something Love, right?”

She said she didn’t know for sure. She just liked doors and there were three so they were easy to hang. She laughed.

I then listened to her tell me that although I could manage multiple projects, tasks and personalities, this position was not the place for me. She needed someone with different experience. I smiled tightly with chin slightly down to push the rise in my throat , to stabilize. She said nice things, reaffirming things. I told her that I had to give it a shot, thanked her and stood. We shook hands.

When I closed the door behind me, I spied for a moment the prints hanging above the the dark table welcoming.

***

When the invitation was extended this morning, I took it. I always try to. Any opportunity to openly express. Sometimes it’s hard though when the rawness of skin as if drug through gravel still stings. I met, accepted and returned the best I could. With all that I had in that moment.

On the way back inside our home, I felt the rise of more tears. Shin shivering and throat fighting a good fight, I looked for matching socks, shoes and sweater until I realized I couldn’t. I needed to sit for just a minute. To think of nothing but breathing and sitting. To feel the pressure of my both my feet on the floor. To smell of showers and our bed. The exhale caused more than just air to flow outward. I felt dry but again was not. I felt like our skies.

Wiping clean my face, I told my reflection to remember it all and always. To be brave. To think bigger. To love bigger. To breathe. To move through.

***

“Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of bondage.”

“You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth?”

“The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.”

“If you keep on biting and devouring each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.”

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”

“Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.”

– from Galatians 5

***

Please visit Kelly at {this} restless heart. Reading her story brought up more tears even though I felt dry and cracked like baked earth. In the wee earliest morning hours, she led me to where I needed to go.

The Big Idea

To be brave is to love someone unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. To just give. That takes courage, because we don't want to fall on our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt.
- Madonna

My Prayer…

Dear Lord grant me the grace of wonder. Surprise me, amaze me, awe me in every crevice of Your universe. Delight me to see how Your Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not His, to the Father through the features of men's faces. Each day enrapture me with Your marvelous things without number. I do not ask to see the reason for it all; I ask only to share the wonder of it all.